


corkscrew

by cuneifire (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 09:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20061802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cuneifire
Summary: There's something crooked about this; something history won't remember.





	corkscrew

Ludwig is lost. 

Painfully, utterly completely lost. In the middle of Italy. Behind enemy lines. Without a map. Or a radio. Or a survival pack.

He shakes his head. Why couldn’t he have just followed orders like he always did? He can  _ hear  _ his father scolding him in the back of his mind.

_ Focus,  _ he reminds himself, insisting ahead in the direction he recalled his division being.  _ Can’t die today, can’t die tomorrow, can’t die until we win the war,  _ he thinks back on his brother’s words, wondering how he was doing. He hadn’t heard much about the Russian front, other than their rampant success there.

He hoped he was alright.

The sun was warm on his back (why did Italy have to be so _hot) _as he pulled into a clearing, quickly checking first for enemy soldiers, then for friendly ones, praying for a glint of an Iron Cross in the distance.

No such luck.

He restrains from sighing. Nothing. At least no Italians (or god forbid, British).

Raising his gaze to the sky, he seats himself at the edge of the clearing, back to a particularly wide tree, keeping his eyes and ears alert for any indication of enemy presence. Nothing. Cautiously, he unstraps the half-filled bottle of water and raises it to his lips, taking a short sip before returning it to its place.

He keeps his eyes trained on the ground around him, trying not to let his mind wander.

_ Maybe-  _ his brain ran over the occurrences that had got him here. He’d been with his infantry division, a small one, bypassing enemy lines (he had wondered if the Italians even  _ had  _ any lines to bypass, from how fast they were progressing). Where had they been again? Caporetto, was it? He shook his head, trying to remember what had happened before the grenade went off-

_ He’d closed his eyes, and for a second he’d see something. He couldn’t pinpoint to it exactly, but it’d been- _

_ It’s 1871, he knows, somehow in his bones, when he wakes up. _

And then he’d gotten distracted, and pulled the pin.

_ But in that moment- He’d felt it, something like a pull in his chest, towards his country, the same one he’d felt when he’d signed up for the army for the first place; his country had called, and he’d answered. _

_ It’d happened before. When he used to get lost in the forest when he was little, and somehow he’d always find homes without a problem, but as soon as he left the country he was useless _ _ . _

_ Maybe he could use that now? _

He didn’t know, and it sounded ridiculous, but it wasn’t as though he was drowning in options.

He straightened his shoulders, heightening his focus on his surroundings. Tried to think of his homeland, of Germany, of Berlin and _wurst _and his family and everything that reminded his of home and his fingers clenched on his guns and-

“Ah! What are you doing here?!” A voice exclaims out of nowhere, and Ludwig starts. His hands immediately go to his gun, flicking his pistol out of its holder and rapidly cocking it towards the noise he’d previously heard.

“Who is it?” He demands, not considering for a second that they might not know German. He switches to broken Italian first. 

“Ah! Don’t hurt me!” The same voice says, and Ludwig immediately jumps to his feet, turning to find a man, looking barely past recruiting age.  _ These Italians are getting desperate, aren’t they? _

“Uh…  _ Du bist ein Deutscher, oder _ ?“ He says, voice cracking nervously over the words.

Ludwig nods. “Yes. And you are Italian.” Not a question, a statement.

“_Sì.” _The Italian responds, smiling brightly.

Ludwig stares down at his pistol. “And Italians and Germans are enemies.”

The Italian almost winces. “Please don’t hurt me! Here, you can have one of these-“

He fires.

“Ai! What was that for- Mister German?”

Dirt kicks up around the bullet that has lodged itself near the man’s feet.

_ Why didn’t I kill him?  _ “You shouldn’t be talking to me.” Ludwig says, eyes downcast. Should he kill him?

“~Ve, but here I am, no?” He says, and Ludwig decides he doesn’t like the expression on the Italian’s face. Kind, sweet, possibly naïve- but there’s something there-

“Don’t you want to do something other than fire guns at each other all day?”

_ What?  _ “Aren’t you in the army?”  _ I’ve heard the Italian military lacks discipline, but this? Why isn’t he trying to hurt me?  _ He thins trying to comprehend. Everything about this is screaming  _ wrong. _

The Italian’s eyes brighten a bit for some reason, hand going to his crooked cap to give a salute, lopsided smile and saluting with the wrong hand. “Of course!” He points to the insignia on his cap; not many badges, as far as Ludwig can tell. But then again, he’s no expert in Italian military ranks. Except that the ones with more badges are harder to kill.

“But I don’t really want to die, and I also don’t really want to shoot you and the officers are really mean and honestly I like it more out here where there’s no angry Hungarians or shouting Germans and… Sorry I didn’t mean that! I’m really sorry sir can you please stop glaring at me Germans are really scary when they’re angry especially when they have guns!”

Ludwig’s fingers tighten around the trigger.  _ Should he? _

The Italian’s eyes widen. “It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to shoot me, German!”

Ludwig raises an eyebrow. “And why not?”

He thinks he catches a half smile on the Italian’s face. Not bright. 

_ Dangerous _ , his mind whispers.

“I won’t die.”

_ What?  _ “Then I’ll shoot you again.”

The Italian shook his head. “You wouldn’t want to. Look, can’t we just put the gun down and talk? I can tell you about pasta; you can talk about wurst or military tactics or reformations or whatever it is you Germans like to talk about!”

“I…” Ludwig looks up at him in confusion.  _ What is wrong with him?  _ No one would want to do that, fraternize with the enemy like that, break the rules, talk to him…

He looks down at the gun, hesitating over the trigger.  _ Why did my shot miss earlier? _

He has killed many with this gun. Why is now the exception?

By the time he thinks all this, the Italian has already come up to him, leaving his hand out. “You can call me Feliciano!”

“I am Ludwig.” He says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Why hadn’t he shot him?

The Italian freezes, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Lud- Ludwig?” He asks, the grip of Ludwig’s hand going stiff and stilted.

“Um… Yes. That’s my name.”

The Italian continues to stare at him, visibly swallowing. “It can’t be… You… you di…”

Ludwig tilts his head at the man. “Are you alright?”  _ He’s probably planning to shoot me,  _ Germany thinks with calmed panic, immediately fixing his hand to his gun again.

“I…” The Italian blinks, then shakes his head.

“You remind me of someone I knew once.” He says, in that same cheerful tone as before but now it sounds hollow, like there’s something missing.

The Italian pauses, gaze running over him again.

“You finally…” He says before shaking his head.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ludwig!” The Italian- no, Feliciano, finally says, and it takes Ludwig a half second too long to find a response, for some reason finding his gaze lingering on this stranger’s bright smile and half closed eyes and exuberant expression.

“…Nice to meet you too.” He says, and doesn’t know why the first thing that comes to mind is  _ I’ve seen you before. _


End file.
